by Cathryn Hein
‘Nice. I’ll be sure to tell my fans that.’
She eyed it dubiously. A pumpkin of that size was bound to be woody. Maybe she could save it for October and do something Halloween-y with it.
‘Don’t look at my baby like that.’ Pa patted it as though it were a dog. ‘That’s prime Queensland Blue.’
‘A Queensland Blue I’ll need a chainsaw to cut into,’ said Tash, turning on the espresso machine. ‘Or maybe an axe.’
Pa stood at the door in a patch of sunshine with his hands joined behind his back, peering out while she prepared coffee. ‘Seen Patrick?’
‘No. He usually comes for dinner Thursday nights though.’
Pa nodded at his pride and joy. ‘You can make him pumpkin soup.’
‘Sure. And what will I do with the other twenty litres it’ll make?’
Pa grinned. ‘I have no doubt you’ll think of something.’
Tash would have to. Castlereagh didn’t have pigs to feed the rest of the pumpkin to. She carried their coffees across and joined him. Filtered through the glass the sun was gloriously warm, belying the frigid conditions outside.
They sipped companionably and watched the breeze sway the garden plants. With growth slowed there wasn’t much to do in the garden except thin the carrot rows, plant spinach and a few other hardy winter varieties, weed, and check for slugs and snails. Today Tash was going to film Pa discussing how to plan an orchard. She had yet to decide if she’d bother with one of her own, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t exploit her Pa’s knowledge.
Or his wisdom.
‘Do you think he’ll ever get over her?’ she asked.
Pa took a sip of his coffee and squinted at the sun. ‘Yes and no.’
Tash regarded the mat where Coco was tucked up nose to tail around her ragged ball.
‘He’ll be like me with your nan, Floss. She’ll always be in there.’
She chewed her lip. Of course Maddy would always be important to Patrick, but that wasn’t what Tash was asking.
‘Doesn’t mean there’s not room for anyone else,’ said Pa.
Tash looked at him. Draping an arm around her shoulders, Pa smiled and kissed the top of her head. ‘Thought so.’
‘Thought so what?’
‘You and the lad.’
Heat flared across her cheeks. She stared back at Coco. ‘It’s nothing.’
‘Course not,’ he said, laughter in his voice. ‘Course not.’
‘Don’t laugh. It’s bloody inconvenient.’
‘Love always is, Flossie.’
It wasn’t love. It couldn’t be. Tash was too sensible for that. Lust certainly. Patrick was an attractive man, and if Maddy’s past brags were anything to go by, he was also pretty damn hot in the sack. A girl could have a lot of fun with a man like that. But love, like the love he’d shared with Maddy? In her dreams.
Except that the moment she spotted Patrick’s headlights sweeping the yard that night Tash’s heart gave several bucks before breaking into a wild gallop. Anticipation tingled her skin and she took a moment to smooth hair she’d actually bothered to style and check clothing she’d chosen with care, before racing to the door.
Minutes passed. Tash began to hop from foot to foot but still Patrick didn’t appear. With a hmph, she slid the door open, poked her head into the cold and listened. No car engine, no footsteps. Just the rustle of leaves in the faint breeze and occasional bird call. Ducking back inside, she closed the door, folded her arms and frowned at the glass. Then she crossed to the kitchen window and looked out, but reflected light made it too hard to see. Cupping her hands against the glass, she peered through, annoyed when there was still no sign of Patrick. She stepped back and rubbed the back of her neck for a few seconds, then strode to her bedroom where the window faced her parents’ yard. Perhaps she’d been mistaken and it wasn’t Patrick but someone visiting her mum and dad.
Other than her mum’s sedan, there were no other cars near the house that Tash could see.
Her fingers fluttered to her throat. She couldn’t understand it. She’d seen headlights.
An image came to her—Patrick alone in his ute, trying to pull himself together enough to come inside. Trying to be brave so she wouldn’t think he was weak, when his pain had nothing to do with weakness and everything to do with the bravery of love.
Snatching a coat off the back of a chair, Tash dashed into the night, shoving her arms into the sleeves.
His ute was parked behind her car, empty, its engine ticking in the cold. After checking through the driver’s window, Tash hurried past it, scanning her surrounds. The fine day had continued into a clear night, the sort likely to bring morning frost. Moonglow lacquered fence posts and trees in pearly light and turned the white markings of the nearby grazing Herefords phosphorescent. Movement to the right caught her attention: Khan walking towards his gate, his rug luminous. Nearby, standing close to the gate, was a tall silhouette.
Patrick waiting for Khan, the animal he blamed for everything.
With a groaned ‘no’ Tash broke into a sprint.
A few metres from the gate she slowed to a trot, then a wary walk, and finally she stopped. Khan was leaning over the gate, his eyes half closed in happiness as Patrick scratched between his ears with one hand, and along his jawline with the other. If there was a rifle, Tash couldn’t see it.
‘Hey,’ he said, glancing at her and back at Khan.
‘Hey.’ She walked closer, her puffed breaths leaving a trail of steam. ‘Sorry for the panicked run. I saw the headlights then when you didn’t come in I got worried.’
He shrugged and nodded at Khan. ‘Thought I’d say hello.’
‘Okay.’
Tash rubbed her hands together as she tried to think of more to say. Despite the adrenaline rush and her sprint, she was freezing. Though he was dressed in jeans and only a wool jumper, Patrick appeared unaffected. She studied his face—his mouth was grim and the shadows under his eyes caused by more than the night.
‘It’s weird,’ he said, ‘but I feel like he’s all I have left.’
‘I’m sorry.’ It was inadequate but what else could she say?
Patrick gave Khan one last pat, shoved his hands into his pockets and lowered his head, kicking at a clod of grass. ‘Her leaving …’ He shook his head before finally looking up. ‘Mostly I feel like shit.’
‘And the rest?’
‘I feel like a weight’s been lifted.’ His gaze turned even more haunted. ‘Is it wrong to feel that way?’
Compassion thickened Tash’s throat. ‘No.’ Shaking her head, she folded her arms around his body and pressed against him. ‘No.’
Patrick’s strong arms enveloped her, engulfing her in warmth. He rested his cheek against her hair. ‘I thought I was going to be okay. I thought I’d get through fine, but every time I see that empty house …’
‘It was always going to be hard.’ She smiled gently. ‘You’re not Superman, you know.’
‘I know, but I wanted to be stronger. I wanted …’ His face screwed up.
‘Shh. It’s okay.’ She snuggled against his chest and closed her eyes. His heartbeat was rapid in her ear. ‘You will be. You just have to give it time.’
They stayed holding one another in the moonlight to the rhythm of their breathing and the sound of Khan’s legs brushing through the grass and the noises of the night.
‘Tash?’
She lifted her head to look up at him, and caught hope and want and a thousand other things she longed for but wasn’t sure whether to believe.
‘Will you wait with me?’
Now it was her heart that was racing. ‘Yes.’
Chapter 30
‘Good day for it,’ said Bec, kissing Tash on the cheek before turning back to watch Clip take his turn in the drill line-up. She grimaced as he marked then spun towards goal and sent the ball soaring through for a behind. The Saints were playing last year’s premiers and the current season’s ladder leaders. To win they’d need every go
al they could get, and some.
‘Perfect,’ said Tash, her focus on Patrick. She tried to keep her expression neutral as his kick slotted straight through the goal posts, but her mouth twitched involuntarily. God, he was good.
For a winter afternoon it was glorious, with an iridescent blue sky, a faint breeze and warming sunshine. A change was forecast although no rain was scheduled to reach Emu Springs until sometime overnight, which made the day not only ideal for football but also for Tash’s evening plans.
She crouched to fix the shoelace of her sturdy hiking boots, her loose hair swinging around her face. Standing upright, Tash gathered her hair in a fist before letting it flop down her back. Her hair hadn’t been this long since school and it was annoying her no end. She should have tied it back, but Patrick had once made a throwaway comment about liking long hair so she’d kept it down.
‘I see you still haven’t braved one of our local salons yet.’ Bec gave her a teasing nudge. ‘Chicken.’
‘Yes, I am.’ Tash grinned. ‘I’m not going to, either. That way no one can complain.’
Bec scanned Tash’s hair. ‘It is pretty long though.’
‘I’ll be in Melbourne for a couple of days next week. I’ll organise a cut with my old hairdresser then.’
Bec winced as Clip fumbled the ball Patrick kicked to him. ‘Come on, Clip. Get on your game. Why the trip to Melbourne?’
‘Meetings with some promotions people mostly, but also a chance to catch up with friends, trawl a couple of markets, stock up on a few things. Ceci’s away at a cosmetics conference so I’m stopping with Thom.’
‘Thom? Patrick won’t like that.’
‘We’re friends,’ said Tash, meaning Thom, except Bec took it to mean Patrick.
‘Maybe for you.’ She nodded towards Patrick, who was huddled with the team, heads bent around the coach. ‘Not for him.’
Tash wished she could believe that but she was still confused by Patrick’s question on Thursday night. If he’d asked her to wait for him she would have understood. Instead, he’d asked her to wait with him. She’d answered yes, she’d wait, but what she was saying yes to, or was waiting for exactly, Tash wasn’t sure.
The siren sounded, calling the players to their positions. Clip bounded towards the umpires to join the opposition captain for the coin toss. At least today there wasn’t any breeze favouring one end of the ground over the other, but neither team wanted to play the final quarter kicking into the sun.
To the crowd’s delight, Clip won the toss, pointed to the favoured end and jogged off, clapping his hands and revving up his players.
‘Let’s hope that’s a sign from the football gods,’ said Bec, drifting with Tash towards the clubhouse.
As usual the air was redolent with the scent of grilling onions. Tash’s stomach immediately clenched. ‘Sausage sanga?’
Bec made a sour face. ‘Wedding diet, remember?’
‘Sorry.’ Tash slid her a sly sideways look. ‘One won’t hurt.’
‘You are a very bad influence, you know that?’
‘Deprivation is boring. Besides, you’ll wear it off cheering.’
The first quarter was tight, tough and low scoring. The Bulldogs led, but only by a few points. Patrick took a hard hit halfway through that had Tash gasping, but after a few slow minutes he recovered form and was back to his skilful self. Clip was fired up and playing well, although to Bec’s dismay, had missed an easy shot at goal. By half-time the Bulldogs were starting to pull away. Clip led his panting team off as Tash, Bec and the other supporters clapped and cheered.
As soon as they’d disappeared inside, Tash dashed to her car. To make it easier to come and go she’d parked outside the grounds, and was puffing by the time she opened the door. It would be a close-run thing, but Tash hoped she had just enough time to rush home, light the wood oven and have it steady enough to abandon while she zipped back for the final quarter. Bec had been gobsmacked she could even think of leaving during the most crucial part of the game. Games were won and lost on third-quarter performances, but Tash had explained she was preparing a special dinner and had no choice.
She made it two minutes after the siren sounded to open the fourth quarter. The score had tightened, with the Saints having leashed the rampant Bulldogs and reduced their lead to only fifteen points. Tash heard Bec before spotting her. Play was close to the boundary with Clip in the thick of it. Tash stopped to watch, heart leaping as Clip managed to knock the ball from where he’d fallen towards Patrick, who scooped it up with one sure hand and tore towards the Saints’ forward half.
‘Go, go, go!’ she yelled, bouncing on her toes, then gasped as she spotted a Bulldogs player charging in from the side. Her cry of ‘Watch out!’ would never carry, but she screamed it anyway.
Patrick must have sensed the attack. Abruptly, he tacked left, then steadied to get onto his right leg and kicked. The Bulldogs player kept charging, hammering Patrick with a late tackle and a roar from the crowd demanding a free. It didn’t matter. The Saints’ gangly ruckman had sprinted forward to the goal square and, although not renowned for his marking ability, his height advantage allowed him to pluck the ball out of the air above the opposition. Patrick was still trying to stagger upright when the ball sailed through for a goal.
‘God, that was exciting,’ said Bec when Tash caught up with her on the fence in front of the clubhouse. With only nine points needed to level the scores and plenty of time on the clock, the Saints supporters were electric with the hope of victory.
Tash was squinting at the field. ‘Is Patrick all right?’
He was crouched on one knee, clearly trying to regain his breath. Clip jogged past and patted his back. Patrick lifted his hand to signal he was okay, paused for a few more breaths, then straightened and jog-trotted towards the player he was marking.
‘Looks like it.’
Tash chewed her lip. ‘That was a horrible hit.’
‘Don’t worry, he’s tough.’ Bec cupped her hands around her mouth. ‘Come on, Saints!’
‘He could have broken something.’
Bec raised an eyebrow at her. ‘Just friends, huh?’
‘I’d worry for Clip too.’
‘Sure you would.’
The umpire bounced the ball in the centre of the ground. As the game ebbed and flowed, Tash was torn between the utter thrill of the speed and violence of it, and the gut-terrifying fear Patrick would be hurt. Like Clip, he seemed to be everywhere the ball was.
Bec squealed as Clip took a magnificent intercept as the Bulldogs attempted to free the ball from the Saints’ forward line, and tore straight at goal. His kick was straight. Bec went nuts, punching her arm in the air and whooping like a crazy woman.
The Saints were now only three points behind. Another goal would put them in the lead.
‘I can’t watch,’ said Tash, holding her fingers over her eyes.
‘Yes, you can. It’s your duty as girlfriend.’
‘Not girlfriend.’
‘So you keep saying.’
Tash poked her tongue out but Bec wasn’t watching. Play had resumed.
With three minutes left on the clock the Bulldogs had scored another two points—one from a kick for goal that was touched on the line and another that a Saints player rushed through, giving the Saints’ fullback possession of the ball and the kick-in. To the relief of the crowd and his teammates, he made the smart choice, kicking long towards the wing and out of immediate danger. To win, the Saints needed a goal, and fast.
More scrambling followed as the Saints forged their attack. Players across both teams were exhausted. Skill errors were frequent, but desperation and the rabid encouragement of the crowd kept the tackles fierce. With just over a minute to go, Tash’s hands were over her mouth, her body tense as she watched the play. Bec was rocking on her toes and making strangled noises. Play was in the Saints’ half, but only just. With the ball locked between players, the umpire signalled for a ball-up.
Patrick and C
lip were waiting in an arc either side of the ruckmen. The ball flew skyward, the ruckmen charged in. A cheer erupted as the Saints’ ruckman batted it towards Patrick, who took possession and immediately sprinted forward. Weaving around his opposition, Clip pelted towards goal, one arm out in an order for Patrick to have a go, but Patrick was being attacked on three sides as the Bulldogs forwards raced to help their defensive teammates. He had enough time to get a wobbly kick away before being rammed into the ground.
‘Come on, baby. Come on!’ screamed Bec as Clip about-faced and, planting a knee smack in the centre of the back of the Bulldogs player in front of him, leaped to take one of his trademark ‘speccy’ marks. For a heartbeat, his fingers closed around the ball, then it slipped through his grasp and tumbled groundward where it was fumbled around by Bulldogs and Saints players alike.
Closer and closer it went to the goal line, only for a Bulldogs player to take a desperate kick at it and send it tumbling along the ground towards the boundary line. It would have been a good move, had Patrick not recovered from his knock and run forward to cover the gap. He dived and with a clenched fist punched the ball back towards the goal square. Attempting a rushed behind, a Bulldogs player tapped it towards goal.
‘No!’ yelled Tash and Bec in unison.
But Clip had anticipated the move, and with a desperate swing, he kicked the bouncing ball out of the air towards goal.
For a second, there was silence, then the goal umpire gave the signal and the ground exploded with cheers. The Saints had won by a point.
Bec and Tash hugged, bouncing in a circle and squealing in delight. Letting go, Tash released a piercing wolf-whistle and pumped her fist into the air, her chest ballooned with pride for Patrick. Without his save and Clip’s kick, they would have lost.
It took ages for the victorious Saints players to walk off the field. As the game-winner and captain, Clip was hoisted on a couple of sturdy teammates’ shoulders and ‘chaired’ off to the whoops and cheers of the crowd and a crowing Bec’s delight.
Although she needed to get home to check her fire and put dinner on, Tash lingered. She wanted Patrick to know she’d seen his bravery and show her pride. He brought up the rear, grinning but weary as he searched faces. Finding Tash’s, his gaze softened, causing her heart to do a slow flip-flop.
